


Spooky Scary Skeletons (in the Closet)

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Grocery Shopping, Halloween, M/M, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas shifts from one foot to another as he tilts to examine the current contents of their basket. “You have, at present, eight bags of Snickers, six bags of Twix, eleven bags of Reese’s--”</p>
<p>“Yeah, so?”</p>
<p>“How many are you expecting me to try?”</p>
<p>Dean claps him on the shoulder amicably. “C’mon, man,” he says. “Let me have this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spooky Scary Skeletons (in the Closet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [propinquitous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/gifts).



Halloween loses its magic when Dean is eleven.

It just so happens to be the same year he learns to handle a gun well enough to make his own sawed-off.

Or. Well. Maybe it’s not actually that much of a coincidence. John doesn’t say it outright, but Dean gets the message loud and clear: Halloween is for kids, and Dean no longer falls into that category.

He never really did, though. If he’s being honest, Halloween has never held magic for him in the way it seemed to for his classmates. He always wanted to get caught up in the excitement, of course, but considering the fact that the whole holiday is basically a celebration of monsters, a romanticization of the very things that are responsible, on a daily basis, for everything he hates about his life, he thinks he can be excused for feeling a little ambivalent.

He had tried, for a while, for Sam’s sake, even when he had to steal second-hand costumes because knives and bullets and lighter fluid were always more important uses of money. Even though he could never quite explain why he would never let them dress up as witches or werewolves or ghosts, only as superheroes.

It had been fun, while it lasted, pretending that such a shining ideal was something that could exist. Or, even more laughably, that it was something he could be.

And then Sam had broken his arm believing Dean’s bullshit, and that had put an end to that. Even if it hadn’t, Sam learning the truth a few years later certainly would have.

In other words, it’s safe to say, as an adult, that his feelings about the whole thing remain a little mixed. On the one hand, he’s bitter over missing out on the whole experience, over never having the chance to feel simple youthful joy over dressing up and going trick-or-treating. And on the other hand, why the hell is he so bitter? It’s not like he can’t eat candy any damn day of the year he wants. He didn’t need the excuse of a costume as a kid, and he sure doesn’t need the excuse of kids coming round to his door nestled in some suburban neighborhood as an adult. He’s gonna do whatever he wants, annual holidays be damned.

Which is why, bright and early on November 1, Dean decides to head to the freshly discounted Halloween aisle of the closest grocery store.

Sam declines Dean’s enthusiastic invitation as politely as he can. Dean pretends to give him crap about it, but he knows the reason. He supposes if the last night he had spent with the woman he was gonna propose to was on Halloween, he wouldn’t want anywhere near the current garish seasonal section, either. He doesn’t hold it against him.

Cas, though, has no such reservations. “Actually,” he says, in response to Sam’s assertion that Dean’s a day late with his proposed celebration, “traditionally, All Hallow’s Eve marked the beginning of a three-day observance of Allhallowtide to celebrate those who have departed.”

“See?” Dean says, grinning as he slings an arm across Cas’ shoulder. “Cas gets it.”

Still, as they wander down the Halloween aisle of the Smith Center La Dow’s, Dean can tell, with the way Cas is currently staring at an ugly rubber mask covered in fake blood and gore, that he’s puzzled by what ultimately amounts to little more than the commercialization of horror. There’s nothing personal in it, though, just his usual fond bemusement at humans and their peculiar customs.

“People find the strangest shit to celebrate, huh?” Dean says, because okay, he’s still a little weirded out by the whole Halloween thing. “Then again, guess pretty much everybody is down for free candy.”

“Not everyone,” Cas says, absently examining a zombie makeup kit. He doesn’t look particularly convinced by the sample paint job on the front. “If you attempted to obtain candy from your neighbors in Sweden, for instance, you’d be in for an evening of disappointment.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean says, leaning his arms on the cart, watching as Cas sets down the makeup and picks up a Donald Trump mask that’s uncanny valley levels of creepy.

“Yes,” Cas says. “The tradition known as ‘trick-or-treating’ is largely limited to North America, I’m afraid.” He holds up the mask. “Should I try this on?”

“Oh god, no,” Dean says, standing to snatch the mask and put it back on the shelf. “I’d like to actually be able to sleep tonight, thanks.” He considers the other options. There are some cheesy angel wings, of course, fluffy sparkly things not even remotely resembling the ethereal, looming shadows that once haunted a barn in rural Illinois. Still, he passes them over for the same sort of reason he used to pass over the cheesy vampire masks. After all, he’d really like to be past the point where he rubs salt in Cas’ wounds.

Instead, Dean grabs a headband with fuzzy green alien antennae attached and fixes it to Cas’ head with a grin. He stands back, admiring his work.

“Do I make a convincing extraterrestrial, Dean?” Cas asks seriously.

Dean laughs. “Don’t need the antennae for that, dude.” He pulls out his phone. “Hold still for a sec.”

Dean’s trying to poke fun at him, but the picture he winds up with is more than he bargained for. Cas is smiling softly, looking pleased, for some absurd reason, to be standing in a grocery store the day after Halloween browsing cheap plastic goods plastered with “50% off” signs. He rolls his eyes affectionately as he sets it as Cas’ contact photo.

“May I remove these now?” Cas asks, so Dean nods. “You know,” he adds, continuing to survey the various costumes after setting the headband back on the shelf, “it’s a common human misconception that non-Earth based lifeforms would appear largely similar to homo sapiens, with only minor modifications. In reality--”

“Woah, hey, no spoilers,” Dean says, because he’s not quite prepared to have all of life’s mysteries solved for him in the Halloween aisle of a supermarket. Cas merely shrugs. “Anyway,” Dean says, “let’s get to the important stuff.”

Cas follows as Dean leads the way to the candy section. Dean rifles through the post-holiday remains, picking out all the good stuff -- none of that off brand crap for his family, thank you very much -- and tossing it into the cart.

Cas watches the process curiously, apparent skepticism growing as the cart fills. “Is this really necessary?” he asks.

“Hey,” Dean says, “I’m doing this for you, buddy. You need to try them all to figure out which ones are your favorites.”

Cas shifts from one foot to another as he tilts to examine the current contents of their basket. “You have, at present, eight bags of Snickers, six bags of Twix, eleven bags of Reese’s--”

“Yeah, so?”

“How many are you expecting me to try?”

Dean claps him on the shoulder amicably. “C’mon, man,” he says. “Let me have this.”

Cas contemplates this for a moment. “All right,” he says, before moving to sift through the shelves for more Kit-Kats. “Only three bags,” he explains. Dean nods sagely.

By the time their cart is full of half price candy, a few other people have wandered into the aisle and begun giving them dirty looks. Dean grins in victory as they head to the front to check out. He thinks, as the cashier scans the dozens of bags, that Cas is probably just gonna complain all the candy tastes like molecules. He can’t help but smile, anyway, and Cas is smiling back, so it’s not bad, as far as day-after-Halloweens go.

When they get back to the bunker, taking several trips to haul all the bags in, they’re met with a raised eyebrow from Sam.

“Shut up,” Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean can totally see him eyeing the Nerds.

When Cas tosses the last bags onto the table, Dean dusts his hands on his pants. “Well,” he says, “let’s dig in.”

“Dude,” Sam says. “We haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Dude,” Dean retorts, gesturing to the mountain of candy. “We’re about to.”

“No way,” Sam says, in his best little brother voice. “I need real food first, Dean.”

“This _is_ real food,” Dean insists, but Sam’s crossed arms say he finds this argument unpersuasive. Dean rolls his eyes, tossing his hands up in defeat. “Fine, I’ll make some breakfast. Protect the stash,” he directs Cas as he heads to the kitchen.

By the time Dean finishes making breakfast, Sam and Cas have tossed some of each type of candy into a bowl and relocated to the movie room. They eat sitting on the couches, Dean gleefully drowning his perfect golden pancakes in syrup as Sam puts in Evil Dead.

The movie quickly becomes little more than background noise once they finish breakfast and Dean begins having Cas methodically try every kind of candy. Sam watches, bemused, as Dean enthusiastically offers Cas his favorites first, trying to gauge his reactions.

Dean can tell Cas is doing his best to respond appropriately, probably more for Dean’s sake than his own, but he appreciates it anyway, that Cas gives enough of a shit to go the extra mile, even for something so trivial.

Sam makes it halfway through the process before he announces he’s going for a run.

“For real?” Dean asks, turning from watching Cas thoughtfully chewing a fun size 100 Grand bar to look at Sam incredulously.

“Yes? I feel gross after eating all that crap.”

“You’re a monster,” Dean informs him, turning back to the task at hand.

By the time they make it to the end of the testing, Cas having spent several minutes carefully consuming one of each type of candy while Dean popped one after another into his mouth, Dean isn’t feeling so great. He flops back onto the couch dramatically.

“Cas,” he says, drawing his name out into a pathetic whine. “You gotta help me. I’m dyin’ here.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re not ill, Dean,” he says. “You did this to yourself.”

“Hey, both of those things can be true at the same time,” Dean says.

Cas huffs a laugh. “I suppose the punishment does seem a bit disproportionate to the crime,” he says, getting up from his spot on the end of the couch to sit next to Dean’s torso. He reaches out, cupping Dean’s cheek with his hand. The relief is immediate, and Dean can’t help himself from leaning into the touch.

“That’s much better,” he says, sighing happily. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas smiles in fond amusement. He says, hand still on Dean’s face, “I haven’t done anything yet.”

Dean feels his face flush a split second before he feels the rush of Cas’ grace seeping under his skin, absolving him of his candy-related transgressions. It gets rid of the vaguely ill feeling, but not the flustered embarrassment.

Cas seems unperturbed, though, and as Dean lies there, Cas smiling softly with a warm hand still cradling Dean’s face, he decides that it’s stupid to be bitter about Halloween. He may not be wearing a costume and it may technically be November and he may be nearing forty, but he finds himself thinking, _Hey, that doesn’t mean Halloween can’t still be magic, right?_

Dean reaches up with one hand and brushes it against Cas’ cheek, and when Cas leans into his touch, a little thrill runs through him. Cas may still seem kinda alien to him, sometimes, but Dean is pretty sure he knows what that means.

When he pulls Cas down and kisses him, hands on his cheeks, his mouth is as soft and warm and sugary sweet as his smile.

“Tastes like Skittles,” Dean says, grinning, when they finally pull apart to breathe.

Cas hums contentedly. He says, “I much prefer that to the actual candy.”

“Same,” Dean says, kissing Cas’ nose before he sits up to reach for the abandoned bowl of candy. “Let’s make the next one taste like Reese’s.”


End file.
